


all my goodness is gone with you now

by vulgarwoman



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, I'm hella rusty, Punisher Season 2, Romance, i haven't written anything in 5 years, the result of too much red wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-17 23:57:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulgarwoman/pseuds/vulgarwoman
Summary: when she thinks about them, she aches





	all my goodness is gone with you now

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I don’t even know what the fuck this is. A result of too much red wine and the feeling of angst left after Punisher season 2.  
> I recently bought a new laptop and found myself looking through my old Google documents. The last thing I had written was from five years ago, and I was surprised to find the writing wasn’t awful. I had been thinking recently of diving back into writing but found myself kind of intimidated. I think finding those old documents were just the motivation I needed to make the final leap. That being said, please be gentle with me and please let me know what you think!
> 
> Title from Hozier’s new song Shrike. Hozier seems to write the Kastle anthems.

When she thinks about them, she aches.

But in different ways. 

When Karen thinks about Matthew Murdock and Foggy Nelson, her heart hurts.

Nelson, Murdock & Page. From an outsider’s view, they seem fine. They defend the innocent in court. They have late work nights, slap happy, fueled on too strong coffee and gorged on cheap Chinese takeout. They go to Josie’s; they drink the eel. They keep things light.

But Karen sees it; she feels it. She’s no longer the optimist she was several years ago, fresh faced, eyes bright. Naive to New York and searching for a fresh start. Matt, who still appears ever the good Catholic boy, but a darker, jaded current bristles just beneath the surface; and Foggy, always the middle man, the peacekeeper. But both Matt and Karen see the toll it takes. They see the lines that appear at the corner of Foggy’s eyes, the pregnant pause he takes before delivering a trademark quip to diffuse the tension.

She feels the ache, at 2 am, after a night of celebrating their first court win as Nelson, Murdock & Page. They were been drinking, talking about surface things, about the case, laughing at some clever anecdote Foggy said. They’re mid laughter when Matt stops short, headed tilted slightly, when he catches a snippet of the news playing on the small tv, perched high in the corner, high above the bar. 

Karen’s hears it in small bits: 

“ _ Frank Castle, The Punisher, captured-” _

_ “Arrested after a shootout that left 3 women dead -” _

_ “Rushed to surgery, in critical condition - “ _

She feels her blood run cold, and the alcohol turns from liquid to stone, like a tightly clenched fist sitting heavy in the pit of her stomach. The eel sits at the back of her throat, and threatens to make a reappearance. 

  
  
  


When Karen thinks about Frank Castle, it aches. Her heart hurts as well, but it’s more than that. It’s visceral, acute; every sense amplified.

Karen remembers the hotel. The deafening high pitched whine ringing in her ears in the aftermath of a homemade bomb. She remembers Frank’s hands against the nape of her neck, sliding into her hair, his eyes searching her face, glancing across the t-shaped wound above her eyebrow, oozing fresh crimson. 

When she closes her eyes, she can still feel his hot, humid breath, panting against her neck when he holds her unloaded .38 under her chin as he pulls her into the service elevator. 

Karen remembers the hospital, her bare feet, cold against cheap, sterile linoleum. Frank’s warm, slightly sweaty callused hands, clenched tightly in hers when he wakes from a nightmare, his words coming out choked, full of emotion. 

“ _ I gotta walk out of here and you can’t do it with me _ .” She doesn’t remember ever feeling this angry, this sad. It makes her ache.

She remembers the stiff hospital gown Frank wears, crinkling under her touch when she grips his shoulder; his eyes dropping low and trailing their way up her body and finally stopping at her lips, leaving a burning trail of electricity in the wake of his scrutiny. 

She remembers being interrupted, feeling like a teenager again. A hot, embarrassed flush spreading from her neck upward when her eyes meet Amy’s. Amy’s eyes are all too knowing, too cynical for a kid her age. 

 

Karen is too jaded now, she doesn’t believe in fate. But as she walks away from the hospital, tiny shards of glass from a fire alarm clinging to the elbow of her coat, and the rough concrete scraping against the sensitive soles of her feet, she surprisingly feels lighter. She shouldn’t, not with the way they left things. But she knows Frank is a man of action, not of words. She knows what she saw in his eyes, when they left her lips and met hers, right as Amy entered the room.

Frank Castle aches too. And he aches for her. 

_ “Good luck, Frank.”  _

The heavy fist in her stomach starts to unclench and she starts to consider the possibility of their after.


End file.
